


The Meloncholy of a Dream Obsessed Writer and Me

by Basura Leche (artzypinkcow)



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6500572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artzypinkcow/pseuds/Basura%20Leche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A novelist is haunted by his own creation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meloncholy of a Dream Obsessed Writer and Me

When he sleeps he only sees death.

He wonders why things had to turn out this way, why he couldn’t just sleep like before; rested, secure, incredibly pleased and pleasantly content with-

“ _Alvin._ ”

He wants to forget.

He wants to forget nights filled with awe and wonder.

Instead he sees gold - blinding, agonizing, _bleeding_.

Alvin vaguely remembers when those eyes were a stunning gold, speckled with hints of curiosity and utter excitement when they had gone out of town so they could see the stars more clearly.

“ _It’s beautiful._ ”

 _You’re beautiful_ , Alvin had wanted to say, instead he nodded dumbly and laughs; wanted to kick himself for not just saying it out loud and making this a memory worth retelling. He wanted to pull that small — so much smaller — body to his and fall back into plush grass, skin bathed in the light of a milky white moon.

He really wishes he had.

He wishes he could go back to that tiny town and take his hand and laugh and kiss him and repeat all those bottled up emotions he never wanted to let out to anyone except him. All Alvin wanted was to stay under the stars forever.

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I lov-_

When Alvin sleeps he only sees _him_ covered in blood, wide eyed and too shocked to even cry out.

Too shocked to realize the blood that kept on spilling out of an open wound was his own, because Alvin came back for him.

Alvin came back for him.

Only _him_.

  
— — —

  
“You should really sleep more,” Yurgen says over a cup of coffee with too much sweetener. “You look like shit.”

Alvin doesn’t bother to look up from his own half empty cup, tracing coffee stains on the table cloth with his eyes. “Thanks”

Yurgen’s eyes show no sign of pity; just worry and a small hint of agitation because they’ve had this conversation so many times before.

So many times, so very, very many.

“It’s almost been a year,” Yurgen starts and Alvin is grateful for the change of topic because he can’t sleep and Yurgen should mind his own damn business. “You sure you don’t want to start work up again?”

Alvin swallows and lets the warmth of the coffee fill him.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

  
— — —

  
“Where is Alfred?” His mother asks as she holds his hand, her breathing quiet and too unnerving for him to breath easy himself.

“At boarding school still,” Alvin says softly, grip tightening on his mother’s hand as the door to the room opens and Isla comes in. “He misses you dearly.”

“I miss him, too,” she says.

She’s smiling and looking towards the closed window as Alvin gets up to leave. Isla gives him a soft smile and says she'll take care of the rest from here.

His mother sees Isla and reaches out to her. "Where is Alfred?" she asks and Isla answers just the same.

  
— — —

  
“ _Why don’t you look at me anymore?_ ”

Alvin doesn’t bother to answer and only turns over in his bed.

The figure standing over him at the side of his bed glares down at him.

“ _Alfred._ ”

Alvin swallows thickly.

“ _Alfred, please._ ”

Alvin hears the figure breathing softly as they lean in and their words drape over his neck coldly.

“ _Do you even love me anymore?_ ”

Their words are only empty echoes to him now.

The room’s so quiet he wants to scream.

“You aren’t even real,” he says back softly before pulling the blanket over his head and hoping he wakes up soon as the vacant space lets out a quiet scoff and leaves the room.

  
— — —

  
(So many nights he dreams of him and sometimes they are of death and agony; others such sweet serenity that never existed outside of his head and Alvin wants to just end it all with the gun his uncle had given him for his twenty-first birthday — “The world’s always been a mess,” he had said, “Better to be prepared.” — because it’s driving him to madness.

But he never bothers to buy the bullets.

Never bothers to open the gun case either as it collects dust in the back of his closet.)

  
— — —

  
Alvin stops trying to say anything back during his fights with Presa.

This just riles her up even more.

She yells and she throws things and she hisses profanity and Alvin sits and he lets it all happen because he remembers dreams of her on the ground bleeding out because of him and how even in that life he tore apart what they both had built up because money bought happiness and people brought regret.

“Do you even love me anyone,” Presa finally yells, eyes swollen from crying, cheeks flushed with anger, she stomps towards him and looks him right in his cold, blank eyes,

She isn’t the same woman as the one in his dreams

She isn’t the same

Presa finally lets out a choked sob before covering her mouth and turning toward the front door.

 _It’s for the best_ , he thinks and watches the door slam shut.

Alvin doesn’t bother to clean up the glass or the open photo album, doesn’t bother to pick up the broken lamp or torn photos that litter the floor.

He doesn’t bother to look because it’ll only hurt worse.

 _It’s for the best_.

  
— — —

  
_“I’m in love with you,” the boy next to him confesses, a blush stretching from ear to ear as he reaches to grab a leather clad hand. He switches his weight from one foot to the other, nervously waiting for a reply._

_Alvin revels in the words, he almost feels like the world has stopped, like this happiness suddenly in front of him — calling to him, telling him it’s okay to love — is too much, too real for him to allow possible._

_But he wants it._

_He doesn’t hesitate to reach out and cup a pink cheek, staring into big, golden eyes filled with such adoration._

_“Me too,” Alvin whispers as he brings him in to embrace, to hold and never let go._

_The boy stills in his grasp and Alvin bends down a bit to brush his lips against the other’s, taking in the small gasp and feels how soft, how amazingly warm this boy’s lips are._

_“I’m in love with you, Jude Mathis.”_

  
— — —

  
Alvin remembers he did it to forget, did it thinking maybe this was a way to distract himself from his reality.

And at first it worked.

At first he was happy and staying up late at night to type, to tell a story, to enjoy himself for once, just once while his mother lost herself as the days went by. He would laugh and Presa would lean over his shoulder, asking him what he was so happy about, then instead of answering just turning his head to kiss her. Alvin would let her see and she would tell him how amazing he was, how she's so proud that he's found something to hold on to, to enjoy.

Now he felt like nothing mattered.

_Why do I even bother?_

He’s leaning against the white wall as he sits on a white leather hospital bed, taking in the small room of a clinic Yurgen had stressed him to visit while the wax paper underneath him crinkles as he shifts for comfort.

He really wanted things to matter. It wasn’t that he tried to be so depressing, Alvin was tired of being tired. Alvin spent his time just laying around, watching trash and clothes pile up since Presa was no longer living with him to enforce healthy habits opposed to his sloppy ones. He was exhausted, but too afraid to rest, too afraid to see those dreams filled with a life long gone and too irritated to tell himself it wasn’t real, that it couldn't be real.

The door opens and Alvin looks towards it, wondering what poor nurse was going to have to hear his sob story and give him a prescription to not go kill himself.

Instead he saw a head full of short, moppy black hair that almost covered eyes that seemed to glisten even in florescent light.

Big, golden orbs bore into him, the nurse taking him in and giving a kind smile before opening his mouth to speak.

Alvin’s chest tightens at the sound of his voice.

"Alfred, was it?” The nurse looks down at his clip board, scanning it over, his smile widening when he sees he got it right.

“My name is Jude Mathis, I’ll be taking care of you this-“

Jude’s eyes widened as he sees the man faint.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come


End file.
